


Boys on Ice

by AnneLaurant



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Drabble, Drabble Collection, Gen, M/M, Oneshot, Oneshot collection, OtaYuri Week 2017, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 15:23:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16935753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnneLaurant/pseuds/AnneLaurant
Summary: Fics for Otayuri Week 2017.1. Makeup - Yuri puts makeup on Otabek.2. Happy For You - Otabek is happy for Yuri’s achievement. But should he be this happy?3. Mark on History - Yuri wonders about things.4. Display of Affection - Yuri enumerates the many displays of affection he’s seen.5. Assurance - Otabek has fears, and Yuri assures him.6. Lullaby - Otabek can’t sleep; Yuri has a nightmare.7. Territorial - Yuri can be so territorial over the things he likes, Otabek muses8. Alleyway - Otabek Altin was quite the simple man, almost never straying from his routines, until one night, he had to stay away from home for so long, that when he took a shortcut, he got stuck in a looping alleyway.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to do something a little more interesting, than to simply take the themes and write the first things that came to my mind when I saw the prompts. That said, you may look forward to other prompts if you enjoyed this one.
> 
> Also, everything except some typos is unedited; copy-pasted from my original Tumblr posts.

Yuri knew that almost everybody, when performing on ice, wore makeup.

When he was younger, he hated it. He hated having to associate with having to rely on chemicals for extra attractiveness, and he hated having the sticky weight on his face. However, he found out the lighting usually bounced on his skin and made him look so unbearably ugly in photos. He swore he’d never come out of a competition looking like a zombie ever again, even if Yuri still thought that applying makeup felt horrible.

He’d learned to respect makeup artists, though. They could turn beauty into ugliness, vice-versa, and other sorts of forms that Yuri himself didn’t know was possible. It depended on the function, and while many were skillful, only a handful stood out so majestically. Yuri knew, however, that many skaters preferred to keep things simple.

That said, he still couldn’t help himself. He saw that Otabek only had a very bare kit, composed of powdered concealer, lip balm, and… black eyeshadow. (Edgy.)

It was hard not to take advantage of it.

The good news was that Otabek was willing. He usually had a local friend of his to do this for him. This, meaning applying makeup. Albeit a little surprised, Otabek took up Yuri’s offer to do it. It was fine, anyway; they were only hanging out, with the season still far away.

Oh, the innocent bear. The bad news was that Yuri knew little about this. It was his first time to actually do this. This - applying makeup. In some way, he regretted making the offer, which he only said out of no good reason. Not that he had a bad reason; it was mere curiosity.

Yuri had little idea of what to do with the eyeshadow, and he knew that Otabek would prefer to put the lip balm on by himself. So, the Russian proceeded with the concealer first.

He knew from all his makeup artists, Mila’s babbling, and Lilya’s scolding, that there should be a light layer of concealer. It’s done to stop the lighting from making people look like zombies (or zombie apocalypse victims who ran from zombies)… err, something like that. However, Yuri didn’t learn the proper control over the brush. Otabek winced every now and then. Yikes. Yuri hoped he wasn’t hurting his best friend, and he sure hoped he was doing okay, because there’s no damn change in the Kazakh’s face.

Still, the Russian tried. He tried to make his strokes lighter, over his friends’ brow, cheeks, chin… hah. Otabek’s face was really very masculine. The ideal angles, edges, curves – they were present. The sharpness of his jawline, even more highlighted by his undercut, the serious expression he held… Yuri wondered how lucky Otabek’s makeup artist was.

Suddenly, the Kazakh grunted. Urgh. Right. No time for daydreams. Yuri dabbed the brush into the powder concealer again, and very lightly stroked (or hoped so) over Otabek’s eyelids. The thickness of his eyebrows and the shape of his brow… the length and thickness of his eyelashes… damn. This guy was so lucky. He could probably make people’s underwear drop wherever he went, if he had more presence in media, or in general, actually. Yuri chuckled.

“What?” the confused Kazakh asked.

“Nothing,” the Russian mumbled. _Yeah. Nothing. Just… just thinking about how gorgeous you are._

Yuri set the concealer aside, and got the damn eyeshadow. From the curve in the middle of the powdery substance, he could tell that it was well-used. From the marks of its container, he could tell it was old. Maybe this had been with Otabek ever since? Hah. Really?

Yuri thought of how it could’ve been used on him. Not just the eyelids, of course; it was ridiculous to think that the missing amount in the small container would just be spent on the eye area. He wasn’t Georgi, damn it. And besides! Mila used lipstick on her cheeks sometimes (though Yuri never understood if the substitution actually helped). Around the cheeks? Cheekbones? What? To make his jawline even edgier and deadlier? Nose? Lips? Lips…

Somehow, Otabek’s lips looked so glossy. Suddenly, the world was dim, and all Yuri could see were those lips. Now, they were flusher, fuller than they should be. Very kissable. How lucky his future spouse was… but too bad for them. Yuri would, could, should beat them to be Otabek’s first—

Wait. Wait. Wait! No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. No. No. No! Yuri frantically collected his thoughts. Was it normal to think of a friend like this? W-who should he confide in? Mila? Nope. Victor? Never. Yakov? Really?! Lilya? Grandpa? Georgit? Damn it, was it his shitty teenager rebellious phase kicking in?

As Yuri panicked in his mind, his hand set in motion, in sync with his emotions. His fingers smeared the sparkling black powder all over Otabek’s eyelids. When the Russian saw that the right side wasn’t mirrored with the left, he quickly tried to make them match… then the left had more black than the right… then the right more than the left… now heavier… one side… mismatch… shit…

“PANDA!”

Uh-oh. Yuri didn’t say that out loud, did he? Right? Right?!

Otabek confirmed it. The Kazakh opened his eyes, flew into a huge grin, and laughed. Yuri wanted to kick his friend to the other side of the room, but he realized that all of this was his fault in the first place. The Russian joined Otabek in laughing. Yuri probably laughed so hard, his sides and stomach started hurting, and he started gasping for air.

Yuri didn’t know how he survived that day either, because Otabek snatched the eyeshadow from him and started painting on his face. The next thing the Russian knew, there was a selfie or two or whatever, and that both of them had the damn black pigment on their faces. Yuri didn’t previously know that he could get his abdominal muscles to hurt _this_ much just from laughing.

…

That evening, when Victor opened his Instagram, he instantly called Yuuri over. They gushed over the cute trending photo of Otabek looking like a raccoon (panda), grinning next to a laughing Yurio, who had a black nose and whisker-like marks.

The caption read, “Mischievous cat used up all my eyeshadow @yuri-plisetsky #bestfriends #makeup”.


	2. Happy for You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Otabek is happy for Yuri’s achievement. But should he be this happy?

For young athletes, it was truly very difficult to keep up with their routines. School, training, competitions, personal life… everything had to be juggled.  
  
The gold medals were beautiful and all, and the experience of going to different places all over the globe was very attractive, but nothing could match the joy of having finished secondary education in this very hectic schedule, at last.  
  
Yuri Plisetsky held a diploma in his hands - the proof that he could advance to university.  
  
Otabek had never been so proud and uncool in front of his best friend. The Kazakhstani cried at the ceremony. Damn all the journalists who attended, and damn all the people who posted all sorts of stuff on social media.  
  
He was just so, so happy.  
  
And so were Mr. Plisetsky and the rest of Yuri’s fr… um, group. Yakov Feltsman and all his students, Victor Nikiforov, Yuuri Katsuki and friends from Hasetsu, even that budding Japanese skater Minami Kenjiro. Some of them were crying along, too.  
  
Otabek knew that the happiest had to be Mr. Plisetsky. He raised his grandson just fine - a little stubborn and rude, but all just fine and strong and passionate. Everyone in their group was treated to a feast full of pirozhki.  
  
“Beka!”  
  
Otabek almost choked on his food. Yuri, already taller (and considerably heavier) than he was, threw himself onto the Kazakhstani’s back. Otabek can take the weight, but not while he’s eating.  
  
“Y-Yura! Ugh, ack!” Otabek coughed. “Can you… not?”  
  
“I should be the one telling that to you! First you cry so much, that I thought you’d create a river at my school. Now you’re eating my grandpa’s precious precious cooking, but you know what’s wrong with that? You’re eating it with a frown! What’s the deal?”  
  
“I…”  
  
Otabek knew better than to hide details from Yuri. Sooner or later, the Russian would just squeeze it out of him, anyway.  
  
“I don’t think I should be this happy.”  
  
“Huh?! That’s crazy!”  
  
“Kind of. But…” Otabek glanced at Mr. Plisetsky, currently laughing with Yakov, “He’s supposed to be the happiest, right?”  
  
Yuri blinked once… twice… did Otabek offend him? And then, the Russian burst into laughter.  
  
“Oh God, Beka! Ha ha… I can’t believe that you’re jealous of, out of all people, my, my grandpa!”  
  
“Huh? What?! I’m not!”  
  
“You are!”  
  
Yuri pulled him into a hug. Otabek decided against reciprocating. What was the main star of the show doing? He should be having fun, not… not comforting someone who’s spoiling the mood.  
  
“Bekaaaa,” Yuri explained, “Be happy all you want. No one minds who’s happier than who, because everyone knows who’s the happiest. And that, would be me! Right?”  
  
Otabek frowned. What was he himself doing? This was his best friend’s event, and graduating was a big milestone in one’s life. Everyone would be happy, but no one would be happier than the one who achieved that. What he had been thinking of was pointless.  
  
“Right. Thank you, Yura.”  
  
Otabek hugged back. Gosh, he was so uncool today.  
  
“Heh.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: celebration


	3. Mark on History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri wonders about things.

Yuri knows he made a mark on history. At 15, he won his first Grand Prix, and even made a world record with his score.  
  
But he doesn’t care. Katsudon is so unfair. The judges are unfair. The world is so unfair.  
  
Yuri’s happy (just a bit happy, okay?) that he managed to stop Katsudon’s plans. Yuri’s unhappy because his new friend didn’t make it to the podium.  
  
Fuck JJ. Otabek is so unbelievably cool; he deserved to have won bronze, dammit.  
  
“Don’t worry, Yuri. We have next year again.”  
  
Right. That’s the plan. Yuri and Otabek will just have to think of better routines, better programs to wow the world, to surpass Victor, to surpass Yuuri. The two teens, no matter how it doesn’t show, acknowledge their seniors’ abilities. The competition will get a lot more heated, thrilling, interesting, now that Victor is back on the stage.  
  
“But to hell with everything. Victor’s old news. We need a fresh face.”  
  
“Whose face? Yours?”  
  
The past will be Victor’s. Yuuri’s.  
  
“Mine. Or yours. That works too.”  
  
The future is theirs. Awesome.  
  
“Otabek-kun! Yurio! You guys shouldn’t be slacking– Ehh?!?! Victor! Stop that! Haha!”  
  
But for now, Yuri thinks little of that, for all he wants, right now, is to kick Victor and Katsudon out of his home rink for being so gross and overly intimate and everything else.  
  
(He hopes that if his relationship with Otabek, no matter how close or sweet or whatever it’ll be (not that Yuri’s hoping, but it’s not a bad idea…), won’t ever, ever reach to this level of PDA. Seriously. It’s gross. And very extra. Like. They’re engaged and Victor still pretends to be having a crush on his own fiance???)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: future


	4. Display of Affection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri enumerates the many displays of affection he’s seen.

For Yuri, there are different ‘forms’ of what we call public display of affection.  
  
Take Mila, for example. She used to show her exes around when they weren’t exes yet. Yuri remembers how one was boring, how another one was intimidating, and how someone else was cool. She talks a lot about them, and the messages used to be very confusing, peppered with weird imagery and unrelated metaphors. Oh, gosh, it didn’t take Yuri too long to finally read between the lines. Ugh. One of the worst days of his life, really. Good thing Mila doesn’t have anyone right now…  
  
Georgi. Oh, Georgi. His affection features praising his current girlfriend as if she was a goddess incarnate - no, a goddess herself. Flowers, food, clothes, all those shiny sparkly girly stuff that a preteen girl would love to receive from a charming prince - all these, Georgi offers so passionately. It was excessively dramatic; he could be modern Shakespeare in love. The poetry, the gestures, even the places he chooses to display his undying love-love emotion. Anya must’ve gotten tired of the attention. Katya already looks troubled, too…  
  
Victor? Forget about him and Katsudon. They don’t have PDA; they have EDA - extra display of affection. Everyone can see it, some idolize it, some praise it, some avert their eyes, because Victor, for fuck’s sake, is being so extra with his devotion (obsession) for Yuuri, and Yuuri does little to control Victor from, ugh, buying merchandise of Yuuri Katsuki! Never mind Victor’s frequent verbal and oral declarations of passion in social media and in real life - kisses to Yuuri’s skates, kisses to his own ring, kisses to Yuuri’s ring… ah, alas. Yuri (and the world) is not ready to watch “Victor Nikiforov in Love”.  
  
And Yuri? Well… holding hands, wrapping one’s arms around the other’s back or waist, and cutesy puppy kisses on the forehead and cheeks are all he thinks he handle for now. Basic stuff, really. He’s so glad Otabek understands. Otabek doesn’t mind either - they are both new to this, having just upgraded their relationship so recently. There are a lot of changes to adjust to, and they still have responsibilities to attend to - careers to maintain and schooling to finish.  
  
Otabek thinks that everyone around them is so eager and hasty. The emotion and idea of love spins everyone round and round like the Kazakhstani spins his disks. Yuri laughs. Right.  
  
And Yuri points out - there are some small stuff that are already intimate and sweet enough that they do. The frequent long and aimless bike rides, the davai-thumbs-up ritual, the selfies and the meals and the stories they share…  
  
The more stupid sickly forms of PDA can wait.  
  
(…actually, they can wait forever; Yuri never plans to be so extra about his own relationship, and Otabek only plans to be so stupid and sick in their private moments, anyway. They only hope that they could remember this deal.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: intimacy and a play on the concept of distance. Inspired by a sign I saw in a park.


	5. Assurance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Otabek has fears, and Yuri assures him.

When he was young, Otabek often had to assure his family and his friends that he’d be fine overseas. He’d often hold his younger sister close and whisper her sweet words. He’d often try to show his mother that he can handle the distance. He’d often tell everybody else of his current state with a good morning or good night message.  
  
Of course, his relatives would understand. He was engaged in a sport that wasn’t so popular in their country, and he’d started at a young age, which meant that he also had to maintain his grades while keeping up with the world’s best skaters. He had a busy schedule and a strict routine, and it was an outstanding feat for him to accomplish. Still, his loved ones would always worry. They’d make it up with very warm welcomes and hugs when he got back home.  
  
Otabek had his own fears, too. He’d still get nervous during a competition, and he’d give himself a pep-talk inside his head. ‘Don’t waver. Reach for your goals. Believe in yourself.’ He’d let his body memorize the routines first, and let it carry him to his score later. His focus would be on proving that he’s worth it; that his sacrifices thus far, the distance, the time, the investment, are all worth it. Never mind that announcers and fans would tell him he’s so stoic; he’s simply determined and serious. Never mind that his body wasn’t meant for ballet and all those flexible positions his co-skaters would assume; just because he didn’t do well in that area, doesn’t mean that he had to go home a loser.  
  
At times, he did think that maybe he should’ve placed higher on the rankings. However, Otabek didn’t let himself dwell in that bitterness. If he had time to sulk and complain, then surely he had the time to think of a better performance for the next round.  
  
Yuri still thought he should’ve placed on the podium, though, higher than Jean-Jacques Leroy. Yuri Plisetsky. Perfection in a teenager, with the eyes of a soldier, and the might of a tiger. It had only been weeks since the last Grand Prix, since they became friends in Barcelona, and now they were spending some time together in a café in St. Petersburg. It was almost a miracle that Otabek was allowed to sit with him, this prodigy, one with talent and passion, a gifted man who managed to score gold at his first GPF series.  
  
And out of all the things and all the people he could be worrying about, Yuri worried about him. Otabek told his friend that he should let the matter go. The Kazakh skater appreciated the Russian’s thoughts, but it would be best that they forget it and move on.  
  
“But you should’ve been third.” Yuri pouted. “It would be a good mark on figure skating history. You, me, and… well, fine. Katsudo—Yuuri deserves his place up there, too.”  
  
Yuuri… as in, Yuuri Katsuki, Victor Nikiforov’s student. That reminded him…  
  
“But what about next year?” Otabek asked, “We’re up against Katsuki and even… even Victor Nikiforov.”  
  
Otabek wouldn’t exactly say he admired or feared the man, but it was another thing to be up against a celebrated athlete. Victor Nikiforov. The man himself was amusing, he could admit; Otabek faced him before, sitting together in a press conference. The name and the talent, however, were intimidating. The Russian genius had proven himself time and time again. He had numerous medals, a very successful career, and a very clear mark in the history of figure skating. Otabek would be lying if he wasn’t nervous about having to compete with the Victor Nikiforov again.  
  
“Oh, shush, you worry about that guy? Really?”  
  
Otabek looked at Yuri. Yuri’s soldier eyes shone with such brilliance and fire. He was ready for the challenge. How admirable! How the Kazakhstani wished he had such courage, too. Yuri’s wide grin showed that he was so excited about the next World’s, and maybe even the GPF.  
  
“Beka, chill! He may be the leading figure skater, but he’s only doing this round for Katsu—Yuuri. In other words, he’ll probably not aim for gold this time.”  
  
“Are you sure, Yura? Or are you just encouraging me?”  
  
Yuri smirked. “Hey, I know what goes on while they’re training. He’s playing around most of the time. And, god, I’m forced to watch them flirt endlessly! Gross! Can you imagine being stuck in a rink with two grown adults acting like middle school preteens hopelessly in love?”  
  
Otabek laughed. He wasn’t sure whether to believe Yuri or not. He’d seen the photos, of course, but he’d rather not assume. Still, he knew that his friend was just trying to cheer him up.  
  
“I… thank you, Yura.”  
  
Yuri chuckled. “You better be thankful, that’s right!”  
  
And in the absence of his family, his friends, and even his own confidence, it was Yuri Plisetsky who assured Otabek. Yes. He’d be fine. They’d be fine. Everything was okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: fear and encouragement, first story. May or may not be related to Mark on History (Chapter 3).


	6. Lullaby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Otabek can’t sleep; Yuri has a nightmare.

When he was young, Otabek would calm his sister and sing her lullabies at night. His mother would rather that he stopped pampering her, but he couldn’t help it.  
  
It was similar when he and Yuri stayed under one ceiling and slept in one bed, one room. It was a sleepover, a short vacation at Yuri’s. The morning and the afternoon were loud and fun, and now at night, Otabek had a hard time catching sleep. Maybe it was because the adrenaline and the high from their earlier activities kept him up. (Of course, not. Otabek was an athlete; he knew that feeling and he was definitely tired.) Maybe it was due to the different feel of the bed. (Definitely not. Otabek traveled to different countries and stayed at different hotels.) Or perhaps, it was that Yuri insisted he stay there and sleep next to him. (That’s probably it. They faced their backs together, cramped in that soft and warm space.)  
  
The Kazakhstani believed that it couldn’t be that Yuri was scared or something. Or maybe it was because the Russian didn’t know what to do at sleepovers, and this was his first time to invite somebody to stay. He didn’t want Otabek to use a separate room or a sleeping bag. The Kazakhstani felt pride; it was an honor to be regarded so highly by Yuri Plisetsky. But, at the same time, Otabek felt… he felt that he shouldn’t be this happy. It wasn’t related to the pride and honor thing, but more like…  
  
Otabek knew he had feelings for his friend. He wasn’t a stranger to a similar emotion, and he’d recognized that it wasn’t admiration or awe anymore. But, it wasn’t just some silly crush or attraction. The more Otabek denied that there was no way he could be in love, the more his feelings strengthened. He wanted to be near Yuri; he longed to close their physical distance.  
  
Now, he had it, but he wasn’t satisfied or happy with it. He felt that this… this was too close for comfort. Not yet. This was too fast for him. It was almost like he was close to defiling Yuri Plisetsky and betraying their friendship. One false move, and he’d hurt his friend.  
  
In a desperate cry for calm and slumber, Otabek began to sing. He started with humming a tune he’d made for his sister many nights ago – a tune that he was now using for himself. He remembered the silly lyrics to go with it, a little story about little ponies and the moon. As silly as they were, they were also comforting. His mouth formed the words, and while they were very familiar to him, they sounded so foreign to him. Maybe it was because he was reciting it for himself, to clear his head of the conflict that brewed inside it.  
  
As he sang, he felt the body behind him stir. Yuri. Maybe Yuri wasn’t asleep? Otabek stopped, and sat up to look at his friend. No. Yuri was definitely asleep, deep in sleep, even, and he… he was having a nightmare… or maybe trouble in his sleep. The sweat on his furrowed brow, the eyes shut in pain, the voice moaning for relief…  
  
“No… ugh… no…. no… urgh…”  
  
Otabek stirred him. “Yura, Yura.” The Russian didn’t stir. “Yura! Wake up! Yura!”  
  
The Kazakhstani kept shaking his friend. While it could’ve really been just a nightmare, he couldn’t shake off the possibility that Yuri was having trouble breathing. Otabek saw it with a great aunt – she sounded like she was dying, her moans low and loud, her arms stretching up in the air. Rescue came in the nick of time, when his uncle noticed the irregularities in her, and she was rushed to the hospital soon after.  
  
Otabek didn’t want that to happen here, too. Not to Yuri. Yuri, who had such a bright future ahead of him, who had a full life ahead of him. Otabek called out his name, again and again. “Yura! YURA!”  
  
“Ugh… no… GAH!”  
  
And finally, Yuri woke, almost jumping out of his bed. As much as Otabek wanted to laugh at the silly cowlicks on the side of Yuri’s head, he was thankful that the Russian seemed fine, even as he panted and gripped his blanket tightly. The Kazakhstani then released his own breath, that he didn’t know he was holding. He wanted to hug Yuri, too, but he’d reserve that for the future.  
  
“Beka…” came the syllables from under the Russian’s breath. Yuri’s widened eyes turned to Otabek, and pale fingers grasped at dark locks of hair and a sharp jawline. “It’s you! It’s… it’s Beka. Thank… thank God, thank God!”  
  
Yuri’s hands dropped, and his arms wrapped around the Kazakh man. Otabek could feel the heat rush to his chest and his cheeks, but he’d rather appreciate the warmth that pressed against him. Or rather, Yuri felt cold. Otabek wiped the sweat around Yuri’s neck with the blanket. He hoped his friend wouldn’t mind.  
  
“Beka,” Yuri gasped, “I was… Chulanont… he… JJ…”  
  
“Shhh, shh, it’s okay.” Otabek thought that it was better that Yuri not recall his nightmare.  
  
“How—how dare you tell me it’s okay?!” Yuri pushed away, though he didn’t fully release Otabek from their hug. “It’s not okay! We were wearing hamster hats, dancing for Chulanont’s stupid ice show, and when I turned around to tell Victor and Katsudon to mind their own business, it wasn’t you, but it was JJ! It was Jean-fucking-Jacques Leroy I was holding hands with! Don’t you dare tell me that’s okay! It’s! Not! Okay!”  
  
Oh. The typical… Yuri nightmare scenario. Anything that involved Jean-Jacques Leroy was a pain to Yuri. There was even a time when they advertised for the same brand, and… Yuri spent the entire afternoon complaining to Otabek via Skype. And now, Yuri had a nightmare involving the guy. Truly horrifying.  
  
“Alright, that’s… that’s definitely not okay,” Otabek agreed, but he noticed something about Yuri’s account of his nightmare. “Wait, you were holding hands with…?”  
  
“Don’t!” Yuri huffed, “Don’t say his name. Don’t. I’ve had enough of him for tonight. Alright?”  
  
“I wasn’t going to say that.” He truly wasn’t. Maybe he should just ask another time and let Yuri sleep, but, Otabek was curious.  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“You said, you were holding hands with me? Is that correct?”  
  
Otabek couldn’t see it well in the darkness, but he knew that Yuri became flustered. He immediately withdrew his hands and wrapped his arms around himself.  
  
“Why?” Yuri defended, “You got a problem with that? You looked like you were sliding off, so I held your hand. You clumsy wuss.”  
  
Otabek really, really wanted to know more details, but he figured that he was satisfied for tonight, and that it was best to sleep now. He didn’t want to make his friend more uncomfortable than he looked like right now. Yuri was fine, the nightmare was gone, and Otabek’s heart had calmed.  
  
“Okay,” he said, and lay back down.  
  
“Y-you’re not going to ask about it?”  
  
“…it’s too late for nightly interviews, I think.”  
  
Yuri followed suit, but this time, they faced each other. While Otabek knew that he himself was sleepy, he just couldn’t let his eyes close. He savored the moments that passed, the moments when he stared at Yuri’s face and watched Yuri’s breathing become even.  
  
“So… are we going to sleep, or not?” Yuri asked.  
  
Otabek chuckled. Where had he heard this similar pattern of speech before? “Why won’t you?”  
  
“I can’t. What if I see that fucker’s face in my dreams again?”  
  
Otabek thought for a moment, then he placed his hand between their faces. “…hold my hand?”  
  
Yuri stared at the hand, then he held it in his own. He smirked. “What are we? Kids? Sing me a lullaby, _mom_.”  
  
The Kazakhstani thought it was a strange request, and shrugged. “Alright.”  
  
“Really? Wait I didn’t mean—” Yuri’s eyes widened again, but he quieted. His friend smiled.  
  
“It’s childish, though. It’s about ponies dancing under the moon.”  
  
Yuri closed his eyes. “Lame. But whatever.”  
  
Otabek closed his own eyes, gripped Yuri’s hand tighter, and began to sing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: fear and encouragement, second story. Okay, so this is a different ‘fear’ and ‘encouragement’.


	7. Territorial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri can be so territorial over the things he likes, Otabek muses.

Otabek couldn’t be bothered to say it out loud, but he’s well aware of how… ‘territorial’ Yuri could be.  
  
One time, Mila Babicheva approached Otabek. There wasn’t anything that odd or special in whatever they discussed; mostly things about Yuri, their respective countries, and having to keep up with their schooling and their career. He’d had this similar conversations with Victor and Yuuri. Yuri, however, did not like the situation. Upon seeing them together, the Russian teenager dragged Otabek away, merely telling them to shut up, even if his rinkmate or his boyfriend was ready to put up a disclaimer. The “I’ll IM you later!” from Mila didn’t go unnoticed, either; Yuri insisted that Otabek should not communicate with 'the hag’.  
  
On one Facebook post, Phichit Chulanont told everyone of his dream. His friends liked it, and some of his artistic peers photoshopped different images to give extra joy to the Thai skater. Oh, how those images amused a lot of people, and how those images got shared by a lot of people. “Phichit on Ice”, said the caption on that particular photoset. It featured several skaters of the men’s division; all their faces were slapped onto different wacky costumes of all colors… all which were paired with hamster hats. Otabek would laugh at how silly his face and Yuri’s looked like in the hamster hats, but Yuri would have none of that, too. The Russian teenager quickly (and sloppily) edited cat ears onto a selfie of himself and Otabek, and captioned it with, “This is so much better.”  
  
There was even a time when Jean-Jacques Leroy sported a shirt with tigers on it. Something for wildlife preservation, an advocacy, Otabek heard. Nothing out of the ordinary for them; they were celebrities who endorsed products here and there. Yuri had never been this pissed. He instantly bought a lot of tiger merchandise, and took many different selfies of himself with said merchandise. He posted all those on Instagram, claiming that he’d support tigers even without being asked.  
  
And of course, there’s no real need to mention how pissed he got when something about the ice rink upset him. Or how he moped and ignored the world when Grandpa Nikolai seemed more interested talking to Otabek, the day when the Kazakh was introduced as Yuri’s boyfriend.  
  
Yuri definitely saw everyone as competition, especially over the things and people he liked. Otabek would never tell him, of course, that it was actually kind of cute. The Kazakh would simply give Yuri a kiss on the cheek, and say, “Yura, it’s fine.” In turn, Yuri would glare into the distance, give a grouchy “Hmph!”, and lean into him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: rivalry. It’s a different rivalry, too.


	8. Alleyway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Otabek Altin was quite the simple man, almost never straying from his routines, until one night, he had to stay away from home for so long, that when he took a shortcut, he got stuck in a looping alleyway.

Otabek Altin was quite the simple man.  
  
His daily routines almost never changed. On weekdays, he’d wake up early, eat breakfast with his family, and go to school. On the way home, he’d either stop by a bookstore, a music store, the grocery, or at a friend’s. When he got home, he’d usually stay inside until the next day. On weekends, he’d simply be around his house, doing chores and favors from his family. Sometimes, he rode around Almaty on his bike.  
  
Otabek Altin was so simple, and almost never strayed from his routine.  
  
That was, until, he was requested to be a replacement DJ. His friend needed to visit a relative at the hospital immediately, and since music was one of his passions, Otabek was the man fit for the job.  
  
He informed his family with a quick phone call that he’d get home late. He played songs as instructed by his friend, though once in a while, he added some tracks to his own taste. Patrons requested every now and then for their own favorites, and as much as Otabek didn’t like people ruining his jam, a job was a job, and he had to comply.  
  
It wasn’t such a bad night, nor was it a scary one. Things went more smoothly than he expected, and Otabek could finally go home. At that hour, only a few people were up.  
  
For some reason, Otabek didn’t go on his usual route home. He decided to take a shortcut. Maybe it was because he still needed to catch sleep, and therefore needed to catch the time. Maybe it was because he had fears, too, and felt the need to be indoors as soon as possible. Whatever the reason, Otabek Altin strayed from his path, and took a shortcut, through dark and cramped alleyways.  
  
However, Otabek noticed an oddity. Time passed; he passed and crossed alleyways, but he hadn’t passed by a way out. He couldn’t find a path that would lead him into a main road; the alleys went on and on. He blinked. Maybe he had gotten his directions wrong? He tried to retrace his steps. However, the dark walls seemed to loop again and again.  
  
Otabek tried not to panic. If there were people in the buildings that sandwiched the alleyways, he could always call for help. However, that would be rude, and his throat already felt dry. He decided to sit under a relatively well-lit portion of the labyrinth to think. He was sleepy, but he had to stay alert. His eyes darted out from side to side, wary of any muggler that might come around. What could he do? Should he try to find a way out by feeling his way our of this labyrinth rather than simply guessing? Or maybe try to climb and see the maze from the top? Should he just wait until morning to try again?  
  
Otabek thought and thought, but sleepiness was wearing him. His head tipped from time to time, until he dozed off…  
  
“What the hell are you doing, asshole?”  
  
Otabek awoke with a jolt, and looked around. He saw no one, but he definitely felt that someone was there - heard that someone was there. Otabek thought, after a while, he was dreaming, and began to doze off again…  
  
“I asked you, asshole. Answer!”  
  
Otabek strained to open his eyes, and looked around again. Who…? Where…?  
  
“Up here.”  
  
He looked up and saw a figure. He stood to observe the figure better, and saw an oddly pale man on top of the lamppost he sat under. Now, in this region of the world, it wasn’t so odd to see a man with white skin and light hair. However, this certain man’s paleness was so odd; he seemed to be shining, as if he was made of ice cold death.  
  
Otabek Altin definitely knew of legends and myths of the dark alleyways. He didn’t expect they’d be true, and he didn’t know that these creatures could be… well, more “modern”, so to speak.  
  
From what Otabek could tell, the oddly pale man wore animal prints and ripped jeans. He also had, of course, colorful language of the modern tongue. And then, there was this weird red patch by his hand, and it dripped…  
  
“Cat got your tongue? Well, say your prayers, because I–”  
  
“You’re hurt.”  
  
Otabek, forced awake by this eerie experience, focused on such an insignificant thing. Of course, if we compare someone’s wound to his life, we might want to say a doctor would prioritize saving him. We might also say that the injury of the odd man was insignificant, especially if we consider that this man was not of this earth. Even the creature himself was shocked.  
  
“W-What did you say?”  
  
“You’re hurt,” Otabek repeated,  "Please come down from there.“  
  
The blonde man frowned. "No.”  
  
“Please. Let me treat it.”  
  
“Why would a mere mortal like you want to treat his predator’s wounds?”  
  
Otabek didn’t know why. Perhaps, it was because he was finally glad to have a companion. The maze exhausted him, and he’d been dealing with this alone.  
  
Feeling that there was no better reply, he answered, “As thanks.”  
  
The creature laughed. It was an otherworldly laugh, the kind that echoed in ears, made hairs raise on ends, and sent chills down spines. The voice wasn’t too deep, though, and lacked enough intimidation to send Otabek running.  
  
Oh. Now that Otabek could see the creature better, his eyes having adjusted to the dark, the creature seemed to take the appearance of a boy around his age, perhaps younger than he.  
  
“Who says thank you before they’re eaten?!”  
  
The odd man - no, boy - laughed once more, and he descended from his perch. Otabek would say that it was as if an angel landed on his toes, dainty and graceful, but he knew very much that this creature was no angel. The odd boy was too… different. Strong. Mighty. Proud. He had his own grace, but of a unique kind.  
  
“Well. I’m here now.”  
  
Otabek gulped. He reached out to the odd boy’s hand. The teen wiped the excess blood off with his own scarf first, and used his handkerchief to cover the wound. Otabek dared to look up - the creature held a rather soft expression as he watched his injury being treated.  
  
“I don’t know if this would actually help,” Otabek confessed as he let go of the creature’s hand. The odd boy laughed.  
  
“What an odd man you are.”  
  
A moment of silence passed, before Otabek remembered the creature’s gentle expression earlier, and blurted out, “Would you like to be friends with me?”  
  
For the nth time that night (early morning), the creature was shocked, and laughed.  
  
“You’re a thousand years too early to ask me to be friends with you~” he remarked.  
  
Otabek frowned. He only thought that the odd boy was lonely, though the teen thought that he himself had been inconsiderate of his companion’s views and feelings.  
  
Not knowing what else to do, Otabek asked, “So are we going to be friends or not?”  
  
It came out quite demanding, and the grin on the creature’s face dropped. He furrowed his brows and placed a hand on his hip - he seemed to be considering what Otabek said. Maybe the teen had been too imposing…?  
  
“Oh, fine!” the odd boy said - thankfully - “But give me your name. I can’t keep calling you 'asshole’ if we’re going to be friends, unless, y'know, you like it that way, you weirdo.”  
  
A heavy weight lifted off Otabek’s chest. He smiled. “Otabek. Otabek Altin.”  
  
“I guess it would be fair to have you know my name, too, but… hm… oh, fine. Just call me Yuri.”  
  
“Yuri,” Otabek repeated.  
  
Yuri nodded. “You know, I kind of feel gracious today, now that somebody knows I actually exist and doesn’t shrug me off as a myth or something. I’ll allow you to go home… But! Only if, and if, you bring me an offering. While I do eat people’s souls - and you can’t tell that to anybody! - Um, what was it…”  
  
Otabek found it funny, but he struggled to keep himself from possibly offending Yuri. “An offering. You wanted an offering.”  
  
“Right. Pirozhki. You know what they are, right? I want pirozhki. If you have cats, you can bring them too. I might get bored of simply interacting with you, Otabek Altin.”  
  
Otabek now badly wanted to laugh at Yuri’s oddity. It must’ve shown on his face, or his shoulders.  
  
“What are you laughing about, asshole?!” Yuri quipped.  
  
“Nothing,” Otabek answered, “Nothing at all, Yuri.”  
  
And so, Otabek Altin found his way out of the maze, and continued his simple life.  
  
He returned to his routines, his classes, his errands, and his little trips around time. He added another item to his itinerary, though, composed of him buying the best pirozhki he could find, sometimes taking a nice stray cat friend, and spending some time in a secluded alleyway, some streets away from home, with a new friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: fantasy. I went with a ‘dark’ fantasy, a.k.a. supernatural theme.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: First times.


End file.
